


All in All, It's Just Another Fist Through A Wall

by MeriKG



Category: Supernatural
Genre: GodCas - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25082320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeriKG/pseuds/MeriKG
Summary: Dean Winchester and Castiel had a good thing going before Cas ate Purgatory and became a God. When he's not busy smiting and stalking innocent kings of Hell, Castiel returns to his favorite human toy. And Sam's poor broken brain isn't getting any less Lucifery.  (Circa season 7 episode 1.)A short and not-so-sweet tale of a snapshot in time in some crappy hotel room.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 37





	All in All, It's Just Another Fist Through A Wall

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at the same time as The New God and It's Different in 2-D. It's part of that verse and I originally made it a sort-of sequel to The New God. But it can stand on its own so it's getting its own posting.

Sam finished getting dressed, taking his sweet time. For once, they weren’t in any big hurry. Dean had nearly finished loading the Impala, but he could wait. Sam was just so tired. Sleep had become a rare and precious commodity, what with Lucifer playing Angel of Music 24-7 in his subconscious. 

And really, Sam needed to stop giving his own personal Satan any new ideas. The Devil was well entrenched in his head, and more than once the illusionary nightmare had seemed to glean inspiration from Sam’s own thoughts. The last thing he needed was two days straight of Music of the Night playing on loop. Twelve hours of Toto had been agony enough. 

Sam stood up, sliding his bag over his shoulder and turned toward the door, swearing to himself when he noticed. There it was again. A fist-shaped dent in the wall, right about at his shoulder level. If it hadn’t been tinged faintly with blood, Sam would most likely never have noticed.

This wasn’t exactly a new thing. He’d seen these exact marks plenty of times before when his brother had punched a wall, for any number of reasons. But when Dean was well and truly pissed, plain old drywall didn’t stand a chance; he always punched clean through. This was more a skid, like he’d pulled the punch.

Not again. 

The first time Sam had seen this type of mark since waking up crazy, he’d had his suspicions, but no facts to back it up. The second time he’d noticed, he’d made a point of watch his brother; noting odd moments or behaviors suggesting he was newly injured for no reasons that Sam knew of. 

And once he knew to look, there’d been signs aplenty. On rare occasion Dean even had Sam drive for a while. An unusual occurrence, but Sam had seen it before, when Dean wanted room to shift and change positions during a long car ride. It used to highly amuse him. But that was when Dean had brought whatever caused the discomfort on himself. 

Sam was nearly completely certain that Dean had known for a long time that Sam was aware of his nocturnal extracurricular activities. It’s not like either Dean or Castiel were blessed with the gift of subtlety. But Cas wasn’t really Cas anymore. Not now that he was full to bursting with millions of stolen souls. And if he was still coming to Dean in the middle of the night… 

Sam sighed. Dean wouldn’t talk about it if he asked. He hadn’t when he and Cas had first started going bump in the night, and he almost certainly wouldn’t now.

Because it was unlikely that Dean was still openly seeking out a hookup with the rebel-angel, considering what Castiel had done to them. But the usual signs were definitely there; sex was almost certainly still happening. And Castiel was a God, now. 

Sam hefted his bag and left the hotel, taking one reluctance glance back at the dented wall. Dean was leaning against the Impala, patiently waiting when Sam finally emerged. Also not a good sign. 

“Sleep well?” Sam asked, stowing his bag in the trunk.

He snuck a glance around the raised trunk lid, noting the way Dean’s shoulders stiffened at the question.

“Like a baby,” his big brother replied, tone wry. They both knew Dean didn’t sleep well. 

“How about you?” Dean asked, a little too carefully. “Any weird dreams?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t think so. None that I can remember, anyway.” In point of fact, he felt better well rested than usual. He might actually have gotten a few hours of honest to god rest.

“That’s a good thing,” Dean replied, a hint of relief in his expression. “You have enough nightmares.”

God’s honest truth. And Sam wasn’t telling his brother half of it. Why burden Dean with things that couldn’t be fixed? And that right there might be the unfortunate answer to Sam’s own unasked question. 

“Head’s up,” Sam looked up just in time to see the Impala’s keys flying at his head. He snapped them out of the air before they pinged him in the face.

“Since you’re so well rested and all, how about you drive for a bit?”

Sam shrugged, careful in his display of nonchalance. “Works for me.” That Dean was having him drive his Baby, knowing Sam’s predilection for daytime hallucination, was telling.  
\--------------

Dean slid carefully into the passenger seat. He’d put the best shocks available into the car the last time he’d rebuilt her, so hopefully they’d have a smooth ride. It would help if His Godliness, Saint Castiel the Lord Douchebag had bothered to heal Dean after he’d finished getting his rocks off. Sometimes he did. Usually, in fact. But Dean had gotten mouthy again last night. Apparently Cas had decided to make a point. 

Maybe Dean shouldn’t have called him a shitty lay. But he’d been hurting, on several different levels, and pain always drove him say things he probably shouldn’t. No matter, he’d heal up in a day or two. There had only been a little blood, and after a hot shower and a couple of Tylenol, the throbbing had receded to more of a dull ache.

He had no regrets. Not really. A few minutes of rough sex against a wall was a small price to pay for the benefits. Every time Dean played ball, gave Cas what he wanted without kicking a fuss, the Angel did something for Sam’s mind. Dean wasn’t sure what it was, but Sam always slept peacefully through the night afterward and woke brighter, the signs that he was seeing invisible crap noticeably absent. For a while. 

Cas wasn’t fixing Sam; he’d made it clear that that particular boat had sailed back when Dean and Bobby had tried to stop him from opening Purgatory. 

But whatever he was doing, it was at least slowing things down, giving Dean’s giant-sized little brother a desperately needed respite. Cas probably thought he was being generous in helping Sam. Rewarding his favorite pet’s good behavior, or whatever bullshit the Uber-Angel felt like spewing in the moment. It would go easier on him if Dean could keep his damn mouth shut, but that just wasn’t his way. 

Whatever. None of that crap mattered. What did matter was that there was something, anything, Dean could do to take the pressure off his brother, even it was temporary. It was hardly the first devil’s bargain Dean had made to ensure Sam’s safety. 

Dean slid into the passenger seat, hiding a wince of pain from his watchful brother’s attention. The next night that that one-pump-chump of an Angel popped in for a quickie; Dean was definitely keeping his smart-ass comments to himself. Actually, that was a good one. One-pump-chump. Cas would hate it. He’d have to remember it for next time.


End file.
